<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Snow's List by Birb-O-Sunshine (polyglotAuthour), Uprisist</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242348">Snow's List</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyglotAuthour/pseuds/Birb-O-Sunshine'>Birb-O-Sunshine (polyglotAuthour)</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uprisist/pseuds/Uprisist'>Uprisist</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Team Fortress 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adoption, Age Swap, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, Everyone Needs A Hug, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Loose Morals, Mercenaries, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Surprisingly wholesome, Swearing, Team Bonding, Team Dynamics, Underage Character(s), Underage Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:48:27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28242348</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/polyglotAuthour/pseuds/Birb-O-Sunshine, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uprisist/pseuds/Uprisist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Snow gets another list of potential recruits, he at first gets confused. The ages seem all wrong--who in their right mind would go both for barely legal adults and people old enough to be vets? Then he smacks his face with his palm. Of course the organisation he works for wouldn't care about details such as that. There aren't many rules that a mercenary company follows, after all.</p><p>With an appropriately heavy heart, he gathers info on his newest targets. And now, he has to make a team out of them.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Boris Andonov Petrovich (Butcher) | Heavy &amp; Bernard Brumes (Kid) | Spy, Heavy &amp; Spy (Team Fortress 2), John Snow (Speeder) | Spy &amp; Bernard Brumes (Kid) | Spy &amp; Boris Andonov Petrovich (Butcher) | Heavy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. List One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="font-serif"><h1>
  <em>Professional profiles</em>
</h1>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p></p><div><p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">"On John Snow:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 37, this excellent gymnast always showed a knack for pickpocketing and petty thievery. He ended up picking the pocket of the wrong person… and to get off lightly, started working for them. He picked up his currently more known skills there, such as his tendency for backstabbing his targets. Got nicknamed Speeder for always completing his contracts quicker than expected-- and for being a real pain to catch.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Robertson:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 38, I honestly feel bad for him. Who in their right mind would name their kid after their surname? Talk about a lack of originality. I’ll call him Bolt. The guy could probably give Usain Bolt a run for his money, anyway. Also he can double jump, what’s up with that? He’s basically Usain Bolt 2.0. I swear that some of the people I find don’t seem real.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On White:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 25, this guy is a real stickler for the rules, despite his rather unassuming name. It’s like he was raised by four guys drunk on testosterone. Either way, this guy is <em>intense</em>. Not afraid to be up in your face, will most definitely call you out; overall a very loud and terrifying guy. <em>However</em>… I’ve seen what he’s like when he’s all alone, and lemme tell ya - his name is pretty accurate. I’ve never seen so many animals in one place before, and they all seem so happy and healthy. Get a man to take care of you like he takes care of his animals. This one’s a keeper.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Shawbury:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 41, ex-firefighter; acts suspiciously like a veteran. Hard to find info on this one, even after doing a little digging. Couldn’t find much more than official records, so it seems like a set up identity. The records don’t seem to be too far off from the real thing, though-- I haven’t been the only one looking.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Galloway:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 23, it was surprisingly difficult to find any info on this one that wasn’t legions of his work in the coal mines. A majority of it is the same old thing everyday, but occasionally there’s mentions of his natural talent in explosions whenever they need to clear a nearby hill. He has some real weight to him - year after year of swinging a pickaxe around would do that to anyone, I suppose. Despite his looks, I’m told he’s a generous man, loyal to a fault and ready to help anyone in need. He has a good heart on him. Best put it to use.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Petrovich:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 16. <em>16</em>. And the kid already works wonders as a butcher. It doesn’t seem to matter what you drop in front of him--a pig, a cow, a human… He’ll butch it right up. Apparently came from a small little village in the middle of nowhere in Russia. With that name, I don’t doubt that. Kid’s huge, too. Already looks like a man twice his age. His papers state he’s nineteen, but I managed to get an authentic birth certificate--kid’s 16. Of course, that changes things a little. But, well, I already took Brumes under my wing. Why not this one too?”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Clark:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 28, this one was probably the easiest to find information on. He doesn’t hide much. In fact, he likes to show off his work. And for good reason, too! His stuff’s revolutionary - all clocks and gears that look like it shouldn’t work but it <em>does</em> and it works <em>well</em>. And he does all of this as a hobby! He mainly works as a construction worker to get money to donate to those who need it. And he sells his inventions too for that exact same cause. This one is a gift that just keeps on giving.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Aakster:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 27, which explains why it was so easy to get info on him. This one’s a real treat: got branded ‘Ripper’ after his poor surgical skills. Apparently, his talents are on his bedside manners. Can confirm on that--real charmer, that one-- got to meet the young’un under cover. He stitches up far better than he cuts ‘em. The kid looks too sweet... Then I got to see him shoot up an idiot that tried to scam him. It was savage.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Caldwell:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 45, and hoo boy, this one’s a real snake in the pit. Quiet and aloof, wouldn’t be surprised if he still clung onto his CIA training like a safeline. It was hard enough to find even the <em>slightest</em> bit of information on this one, and that’s not even taking into account that he’d be able to notice if anyone was looking into him. This guy is <em>shut</em>. Luckily, I managed to find out that he watches birds. Like… a lot of birds. His apartment’s <em>filled</em> with bird posters and cages and other bird-related things. Seems like he likes his hobby. Oh, and he watches people too. There’s a heavily locked safe filled with tabs he’s kept on people, along with a whole list of people he’s hit. Wouldn’t want to cross this guy. He might just throw birds at me.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
    <span class="big">“On Brumes:</span>
  </p>
<p>Aged 19, found this one at a Circus. The boy’s a natural at acting, juggling... Better than some of his instructors. Apparently, the kid ran away and followed them around until the crew relented and took him in. My heart isn’t made out of stone, so when the kid started asking me to teach him… and went on how he already doesn’t have a future as a circus boy… Let’s say I’m not one for offing young’uns for a reason. Couldn’t take his doe eyes anymore, so now I’m stuck with him.”</p>
<p> </p><hr/>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<p><b>A</b>nd according to this letter, I’m the one who has to integrate them into the works. Seems like I have my work cut-out for me. It’ll be an interesting couple months, for sure. I just hope I’m not making a bad gamble--something about Shawbury and White still throws me off. And don’t get me <em>started</em> on Caldwell…</p>
<p>That’s a tomorrow me problem, though. Now all I gotta do is finish this recording and hit the bed.</p>
<p>No, wait. I gotta check up with the Kid first. Did I fix him dinner? Maybe Butcher already got them something… Still, I’m supposed to be the adult here.</p></div></div><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Checking off two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="font-serif"><h1>
    <em>The headache duo</em>
  </h1><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
<p></p><div><p><b>"O</b>of-- Geroffme, kid--" I barked, suddenly awake. It was one thing to take care of one or two young lads... it was another when they decide to invade my bed whenever they wake up earlier than I. </p><p>"But Mister Snooow it's already midday! What did you even do yesterday night? You usually wake up early!" whined Brumes--Bernard--<i>the kid</i>.</p><p>"Is very unusual." Butcher remarked softly from the doorway, reminding me once again that despite his large size, he can be deathly silent. "Need to get up sooner. Lucky for you I already make food." I took a moment to take a heavy sigh. These kids will be the death of me, I swear.</p><p>"What sort of mystery meat is on the menu today?" I chuckled lightly despite myself.</p><p>"<em>Good</em> meat." Butcher replied firmly, his face set into a light frown. "Will not kill you."</p><p>"Never said it was bad meat, buddy. Just curious."</p><p>He took a moment to respond. "... bear. Fresh. Like cow, but tough."</p><p>I raised an eyebrow. "You kill it yourself?"</p><p>Butcher chuckled softly. "Not this time."</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Damn, okay. Remind me not to get on his bad side. “Still, next time I'll make the meals. You can help-- hell, you probably know more about meats than I'll ever do." it wasn't a direct complement, but it'll have to do. Hell knows my list of sins is already long enough without making the kids cook for me as well.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Butcher frowned a bit before replying. Then, slowly, he nodded in agreement. "I teach you about meat." The kid's so serious it's nearly awkward.</p><p>"Isn't bear meat, like, hard to come by? I mean, we're in the city." the kid muttered off, visibly confused.</p><p>Butcher shrugged. "Meat comes to me." Brumes seemingly lacked a reply to that. I don't blame 'im. I don't have one either.</p><p>Butcher waved us along despite our hesitation. "Come. Eat. Is good for you."</p><p>I got up slowly, stretching all the while. Butcher gave me a look as I did so, most likely urging me to go faster with his mind. I patted the kid's shoulder when I was done, non-verbally telling him it was time to go.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>"Alright, then." I started, getting one last crick out, "Let's go."</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Butcher gave a little huff at that, but soon enough we were taking the short trek to what we lovingly referred to as the 'dining room'. There wasn't much to it - this was only one of the safe houses, there wasn't a need to have much in it. This was only supposed to be a temporary stay, after all. Hopefully, we won't be too long here. This place is way too cramped. But that's a safehouse to you--it's either cramped, or decaying in some way. It needs to be safe to me... and I'm not picky. Never was, really. Can't be, growing up in the slums, after all.</p><p>Butcher is right though-- enough of this self-absorbing bullshit. It's time to eat something, gather the kids and skip town. My next target isn't here, after all. Though, I do have one last murder to commit here. Something of a farewell to this shithole.</p><p>Butcher is an amazing cook. Because this, this bear, it tastes delicious. Hunger, as a seasoning, only works so far after all. Even little Bernard, the quiet little thing he is, warmed up after tasting some good food.</p><p>"This is <em>so</em> much better than carnival food. Sure, I didn't eat that <em>every</em> day, but it was way too often. How can you make <em>bear</em> so good, anyway? Wait, no, don't answer it. Let me finish eating first. I'm <em>sensitive</em>, alright." and he kept talking amicably with Butcher.</p><p>Butcher, though. He mostly answered non-verbally. Kid's not comfortable with this language, that much is clear. Maybe some English classes are in order. I might not speak the Queen's English, but <em>some</em> English is better than none. Soon enough we finished eating, and I ushered the kids to go get cleaned up while I reviewed my notes. Never hurt to be prepared, after all.</p><p>The kids left, with Bernard chatting to Butcher easily, and I was left alone to my thoughts. I brought out my small notepad that I always kept on me, and reviewed my list of names. That's the target, there... and, oh. On the next page. Three of my potential recruits that I listed as hard to obtain.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>White. Shawbury. <em>Caldwell</em>.</p><p>My lips twitched into a frown. These three were going to be a pain in my ass, I can just feel it. Call it a sixth sense, but I just knew that I'd have trouble with them. Probably because, out of all of them, they were the oldest and had the most experience.</p><p>Still, though. It had to be done eventually. Might as well get them sooner rather than later. Plus, two of them were - miraculously - in the next town we were heading to.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>I'm going to have a <em>fun</em> time.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>But before all of that, I have a target to kill. And kids to take care of and make sure they aren't afraid to get their hands dirty. Won't make them do too much (they're still just <em>kids</em>...) but they're being recruited to murder, so they have to be desensitized <em>somehow</em>. Even if I don't particularly feel comfortable with having the kids murder so soon in their short lives... it needs to be done. Sooner, preferably, rather than later.</p><p>It's all for the best. Or so I tell myself. And I repeat it as a mantra. That if I have them under my wing, they'll be safer than if the company sent someone else. Most recruiters are harsh, bitter people. Which is why when there's kids involved, they send me.</p><p>I accepted that a long time ago-- that if life will ruin people anyway, I might as well ease them into it. Sure, some of my kids grow up to hate me--I can't blame them for that, for a long time I hated <em>my</em> 'uncle' too. But most move past that hatred, or never reach it at all. I'm their uncle, their father, their mentor.</p><p>I teach them that life throws punches and how to punch back. But sometimes... Sometimes I get old dogs in my list as well. People like Caldwell, like Shawbury--people used to life kicking them down and used to kick life down as well. <em>Those</em> people are much harder to convince and much riskier to recruit. I'm nobody to 'em. What can I tell an ex-CIA agent that'll make him want to sign up to another lifetime of death? The guy's birdwatching, for fuck's sake. He ain't no adrenaline junkie like that Shawbury might be. That one jumped from a war to an urban war-- or that's what everything's pointing it out to. Shawbury I can manage, probably. But White? Caldwell?</p><p>The most I have in common with Caldwell is my age. An' people my age like plannin' their retirement, not buckling up to another war. White, he could be another daring, eager to prove himself a young man. He works security, too. Hmm. I'll deal with Caldwell later. He ain't 'round next town, too. No sense in frying my brain with him now.</p><p>The sound of footsteps roused me from my thoughts, and I quickly put my notepad away. The kids came around the corner, wet-haired and fresh-smelling, a stark contrast to the acrid scent of rotting garbage that laid right beyond the safehouse door.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>"Alright kids, it's time for a field trip." I smiled softly at them, "You all got your stuff?"</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Butcher gave a simple nod while Brumes replied "Yessir!"</p><p><br/>
</p><p>"Good. Let's get going, then. Don't want to waste too much time lollygagging about."</p><p><br/>
</p><p>I bid the kids to follow me, and they did so without much hesitation. Or, at least Brumes did.  Butcher was still a bit wary. He could probably tell that I was a bit dangerous, and was playing cautious because of it. Regardless, he seemed a bit protective of Bernard, judging from how close he stayed near him. It was sweet of him to do so. It’s probably for the best that they make bonds now, since they'll be killing for each other in the future.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Enough of that, though. Time to go on an educational hunt.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>“Are we there yet!” demanded a surprisingly cheerful Brumes, to which I could only sigh in mildly despair. He must be fucking with me, since I heard from the crew that he’s a nice enough kid. Maybe he’s being like this because he’s nervous? Kids can be like that.</p><p>“We’re close enough, kid. Now quiet down, cuz we’re tailing the target first. You <em>can</em> do that, right?” I eyed Bernard down warily, though I was exaggerating things to relax him.</p><p>“I’ll be quiet as a mouse, don’t you worry Mister Snow.” the kid murmured proudly. Butcher just stared at us, waiting.</p><p>“You… you can drop the mister, kid. There’s really no need.” Maybe I sound too exasperated, but having someone so young call me that really drives my age in.</p><p>“Uh… what do I call you, then? Sir?” Oh, no. Kid’s too respectful for this way of live, ain’t him? What am I doing…</p><p>“No, no. Gods no. You can call me whatever, but there’s no need for so much formality.”</p><p>“I’ll call you uncle, then?” I shrugged. I’ll take what I can.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>I signed for them to stop. Bernard nearly walked into me, but Petrovich stopped easily. I guess Brumes is still distracted. Should I really be taking them now? I won’t fuck up the kill, that’s for sure, but maybe I should give them some more time to adjust?</p><p>I sigh. I don’t have the time for any of this. I motion for them to follow me again, which they do easily enough. Bernard is surprisingly quiet, I can barely hear his footsteps. Young Petrovich isn’t as quiet, but he’s quiet enough. Time for the kill. One swift and practiced motion and the target’s dead. I take their valuables to poise as a robbery.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>The quick trip back to the car is eerily quiet.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Not much was said between us for a while. Petrovich was stone-faced and seemed to huddle closer to Brumes, while the kid himself had a conflicted look on him. Eventually it got the point where I was concerned that Bernard would get second thoughts on this, since he was quiet for so long. At least he hadn't outright said that it was wrong, yet. </p><p>We buckled into the car. Everything was packed up and ready to go, so off we went to the next town. No point in staying any longer than necessary.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>A few minutes passed in silence as I drove on the interstate. Then, suddenly; "Will it always be that easy?" </p><p><br/>
</p><p>I glanced sharply at Bernard with the rear view mirror. "What?" I asked, more as a reflex than anything.</p><p>"Killing someone. Is it always that easy for you?"</p><p>I gazed into Bernard's eyes through the mirror for a moment before I was forced to look back at the road. I glanced back at him, my mouth set into a firm line. "It wasn't at first. And, honestly, it doesn't get better. Soon you learn ways to cope with it, and you figure out that it's just a job to complete."</p><p>"But does it get easier?"</p><p>"... yes." I said quietly, hesitantly.</p><p>"I see." Bernard fell silent. Petrovich shifted uncomfortably next to him.</p><p>Was Brumes having second thoughts about all of this? I thought since he's been around long enough to be acquainted with death that he'd be okay, but...</p><p>"You okay, kid?" I asked him.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>"Yeah. Yes, I'm fine. I was just curious." Brumes answered. </p><p>"Don't go soft on me, now." I teased.</p><p>"Of course not, uncle, I would never." A grin slowly crept on his face, and I smiled to myself. Seems like he worked himself out of his funk. That's good. I'd hate to have to... convince him otherwise. I'm glad I don't have to do that. It would... probably make him hate me. I never want that for any of my kids, much less this one.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Enough depressing thoughts. I need to focus on the road.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>It’s nighttime now and Brumes is asleep. The only thing indicating that Butcher’s awake is his quiet, <em>soft</em> humming. I don’t know the song, which means it’s something from his past. It piqued my curiosity, obviously, but I didn’t say anything. The look on his face… He was far away in his memories. I  quit looking at the mirror and focused on parking.</p><p>This safehouse is safely tucked away just on the edge of the local woods. It wasn’t the only house around, sure, but it is the last one on this road. This safehouse is more to de-escalate after difficult missions, I usually spend a couple months at a time here, which means this is the best looking safehouse. There’s no rot, just an unkempt yard and a slightly beaten-looking porch. Cosy.</p><p>“Butcher? Wake Brumes up. We arrived.”</p><p>He nodded. I got out of the car and got my things out the trunk. I’ll leave those two for now. Need to get the generator going, after all. I don’t need to run for groceries or anything like that here-- I have enough canned food to last for ages… And I have some produce. I find that farming is relaxing in small doses. So I have a cubic metre of potatoes and other things that grow easily.</p><p>It was a short trek to the backyard shed where the generator lies, and an even shorter time to get it running. I took a gander at the yard, tsking to myself softly. I'd have to spend a bit of time working on this. It's become quite unruly without my care. Perhaps the kids can help me with it? It'd help teach them important skills, at least.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>It was then that I noticed Brumes and Petrovich had followed me out back. They seemed surprised at the appearance of a small garden, and looked to me with a questioning look in their eyes. I gave them a small smile in return. "It ain't much, but it's all I have here. Makes for a nice hobby, at any rate. Some good, homemade grub as well."</p><p>Brumes seemed excited about the prospect of having a garden. "I've never had a garden before! How do you care for it? I know that you need to get rid of all the weeds, and there's a lot of weeds here, so that's not good for the plants, right? So we need to get rid of them so the plants can live and grow!"</p><p>He made a move to go to the small planter, but Petrovich stopped him with a hand on his shoulder and a Look. "You must eat first. Then you can garden."</p><p>Brumes narrowed his eyes, then gave him a wide smile. "Okay!" He turned to me, "What's for dinner?"</p><p>My smile turned a bit lopsided as I answered, "Tinned beans."</p><p>"Aww, again? I thought that this place would have something else to eat..."</p><p>Butcher scuffed him on the back of his head. "Eat what you are given. No complaining."</p><p>"This house hasn't been lived in for months, either. If there were anything other than cans, then it'd all be rotten."</p><p>Brumes rubbed the back of his head, a look of reluctant acceptance on his face. "Alright..."</p><p>"Let's go get those beans, kids." I said, guiding them inside.</p><p>“Beans good. Build character. I see potato plants. Good choice.” Butcher has a rough way of expressing himself; it makes the kid sound like he lived beyond his years. Pity, since I’m here to rob him further of his childhood.</p><p>I keep trying to clear my head of such thoughts but they always come back. I find my propane stove easily--everything inside the house is under lock and key. With how much time I spend away, and with the house being as visible as it is, I can hardly count on a mere lock on the door to keep things safe. Getting a fire going, starting to boil water, going through my MREs to find something more appetising than beans… Ah, rice. Some tinned meat, dried veg… Not much, but enough. Their diet will liven up when we get this place up and running, though.</p><p>I still manage to make a nice enough dinner. I had this Portuguese contractor once who taught me how to make some pretty mean rice and beans. She was a very nice old lady, and paid me in full to act revenge on her murdered granddaughter. Supposed to be an easy enough contract, but it was hard to make it look like suicide, particularly when I had to retrieve the guy’s harddrive. Piece of shit got off easy, but he had too much money to get arrested.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>Better clean my head soon--don’t want to spoil the food with bad thoughts. I leave everything safely simmering away and go in for a quick smoke. I could tell that Brumes and Petrovich were curious as to where I was going, but I waved them off for the time being. I don't want them to develop any sort of second hand smoking, after all. That'd hardly be good for their health.</p><p>I leaned against the wall, taking a few puffs here and there, watching the sun fall slowly from the sky. A lustrous arrangement of oranges and pinks filled the sky, and I knew it wouldn't be long until twilight hit. That shade of blue right as the sun tucked itself away was always a pretty sight to behold. A small sigh escaped my lips, smoke following the sound. I could feel the wisps of it slowly trudging through my body, soothing my nerves and calming my mind with its siren's call. My jittery hands stilled, and I relaxed against the building I was upon.</p><p>There was nothing better than this, I'd reckon. A nice smoke after a tough but rewarding day, and in just a few moments I'd spend quality time with the kids. It was calm in a way that it was before a storm, but I relished these small, quiet moments with every fiber of my being.</p><p>Never knew when I wouldn't be able to do this again, after all.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>But before long, I knew I had to go back in and face reality again sometime, so I discarded the smoke and carefully went back inside.</p><p>I really needed a shower. I needed it even before smoking, but now? Now even <em>I</em> can barely stand myself. I added the finishing touches and served up, “Hey, you two, come and eat whilst it’s still hot. I’ll run a shower before I do the same-- no need to wait for me.”</p><p>Brumes, which I was expecting to say something, just had an understanding look on his face. I think he could recognise the smell of cigs, but he didn’t point it out which meant he’s used to it. That… genuinely sucks. I’d expect that from Butcher, not from the Kid. It saves me of embarrassment, sure, but…</p><p>Well, he grew up in a circus. I guess it’s not an ideal place. Petrovich, on the other hand, fleetingly looked… grateful? I could be reading too much, projecting on him. On them. I walked upstairs, to my bedroom--it wasn’t much. Bed wasn’t even exclusively mine: it’s a bunk, tucked away in the corner. This whole place screams ‘temporary housing’, doesn’t it?</p><p><br/>
</p><p>I sigh.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>I turn the shower on before undressing. I know it takes a little time before the water runs clear… and a while more before it warms up. Even here has a spartan look to it. There are no pictures, no handsewn towels, no plastic flowers to liven up the place. Just slightly off-white tiles, slightly grimy windows and a small mirror. The sterile white of the lamp doesn’t help masquerading the small, compared to how little this place sees use, mold spots. Downstairs, where I spend most of my time, looks much better.</p><p>The water’s finally hot. I stand under its scalding heat. It hurts a little, just enough for me to concentrate on. It helps me clear my mind. It’s invigorating and exhausting; it’s the nudge my muscles needed to give up onto the stress and tension they were hoarding. I sit on the floor, on the verge of tears. Today was too much. Not enough. I’ll have to care for these two <em>kids </em>when I can scarcely care for myself. <em>Because</em> I can scarcely care for myself.</p><p>I feel infinitesimally small out in the world, fighting my fight, doing my share. And whenever the higher ups notice that I’m wavering, they put me on recruitment duty. They know that under all my efficiency, my ruthless merc way, lies someone who…</p><p>I sigh. Let my head fall onto my knees. There’s no point thinking about all this. Never been a thinker, me. I do things. Follow orders. Easier. The water pours on my skin. I can nearly breathe now.</p><p>I close the water. Enough time spent miserably-- I gotta… I gotta dine. Show ‘em ‘round. Let the other two shower. Get ‘em something to wear. I must have something their size. I accumulated clothes of all sizes over the years. I'm bound to have something their size. Hopefully. Petrovich was a big guy, so I might have to sew something real quick for him, but I'm pretty sure I have something close.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>I took a deep breath, gathering my wits about me, and stood up shakily. I put on some clean clothes, combed my hair to make it look marginally acceptable, and looked at myself in the mirror. To put it simply, I looked like shit, despite having showered just moments before. The bags under my eyes became clearer without my concealer over it, and my eyes themselves looked dead and lifeless. My skin pulled over my bones tightly, making me look skinnier than I already was.</p><p>Quickly, I reapplied my concealer (mostly so the kids didn't get too concerned with my appearance), and added a few other touch-ups so I didn't look so dead. After a few moments of judging myself in the mirror, I deemed myself presentable, and I made my way downstairs.</p><p><br/>
</p><p>When I spotted the kids, I noticed that they were sitting close together and eating easily, though Petrovich was much more slow than Brumes, as though he was making the most out of the small portion he was given. They glanced up at me when they heard me approach, and Brumes gave me an excited wave. "I got some for you!" He pointed towards a surprisingly still-hot plate.</p><p>He must have heard when I finished my shower, then. How kind of him. "Thank you, kid." I ruffled his hair with a small smile on my face as he let out a small indignant noise.</p><p>"Hey, not so rough!" He swatted my hands away with a whine, "It's already hard enough to keep my hair right with all my cowlicks without you messing it all up!"</p><p>Petrovich let out a small huff, apparently amused at all of this. I gave him a dramatic exasperated expression, to which he chortled at.</p><p>"Alright, alright, 'm sorry." I chuckled, and took the plate into my lap. I dug in, savoring as much of the food as possible.</p><p>"You better be." Bernard mumbled, but I knew he didn't mean much of it with his smile.</p></div></div>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>